The Blind Watchmaker
by pippychick
Summary: Sylar wants to test out a theory...


**Title:** The Blind Watchmaker

**Author:** Pippychick

**Rating:** T (maybe M later)

**Pairing:** Gabriel Gray/Rene

**Chapter: **1/?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. The characters are the property of Tim Kring and the actors Zachary Quinto and Jimmy Jean-Louis who have brought them to life so convincingly for us. I'm just playing with them and will wash them and give them back afterwards.

**Warnings:** There will be slash content in this story. Also, if you're not right up to date, there will be spoilers.

**Chapter One**

Brains…

I see that got your attention. If I had stopped at that first one, then perhaps I would be just like her, minus the blonde hair and lesbian love interest, of course. If I had stopped at the one. The one that got Doctor Suresh's attention. The_ first_ Doctor Suresh. But I hadn't stopped. Not then. By then it was too late, because the hunger took over.

Brains… Sometimes the soundtrack inside my head reminds me of a low budget zombie movie, but it's satisfying to do it right. Open it up and take a look inside. Really get to see the delicate workings of it. All those little bits and pieces coming together into one cohesive whole. It's beautiful, really. That's why I still like to take abilities the old-fashioned way, so to speak. It's aesthetically pleasing.

I'm digressing but I'm sure you don't mind. I can just imagine how all those little electro-chemical impulses look inside _your _head. You don't mind, do you? No. Thought not. Whoever you are, you're irresistible. Believe it.

What am I? Father, brother, friend, lover. Not applicable. Son. Well, let's leave that one for now, shall we? Enemy, villain, killer, psychopath, murderer. Those all work. Yes, I assure you there is a difference between killer and murderer. You see, if I kill you, it'll be so much less personal. You could take it as if you'd died in a natural disaster. Whatever. Whereas if I murder you, we'll probably get to know each other quite well. I'll call you by name, and you'll call me… or you would if I left you alive with my number. You'll be surprised how grateful you'll feel to me for completing the job at hand.

Who am I? Well, I'm God, of course. How could I be anything else when so many have died begging for my mercy? And please, don't think all that blind watchmaker stuff has passed me by. It's about as subtle as a sledgehammer is to a watermelon. Want to guess what I'm thinking now? You're getting good at this! You shouldn't have been so afraid to put your hand up. I would have taken you straight to the top of the class.

What am I? Who am I? I've had my thoughts turning this way for some time now. Cue the long journey to find my real father and the disappointment therein. He was almost interesting until he became predictable, just like the rest of you. The recent theft of my body has been a temporary distraction. Though by the way, did you see the look on Partman's face when I killed that guy fixing the tyre? It was almost worth the time it took. It's nice to be back, or rather, not nice, which is kind of the point.

I keep getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I'm not very clear. Speaking of which, invisibility seems to have escaped me… so far.

Okay, so I find out from our cheerleader friend that it might be all these abilities that are distracting me. Giving me excuses to hide behind. She is still a cheerleader, by the way. In the same way that Bush is still a dick. And yet… before I go to Partman to get him to remove them, it's worth testing the water before jumping off the bridge. There's nothing wrong with double metaphors, Claire. You're at college now, and trust me you'll be needing them.

Anyway, I'm sure you were thinking exactly the same as me. If only there was a way to find our Haitian friend. There's a test drive waiting to happen. And since, as Nathan, this body has touched Angela, there was really nothing to it at all.

I arranged to meet him at some bar-come-restaurant type thing. You know the kind of place. Perhaps a bit upmarket but I was supposed to be Angela, and he really doesn't strike me as a diner type person, even if they do have a nice line in Haitian pancakes.

So comes the allotted time, and he's there at the bar, taking up space really quietly. I almost missed him. For such a big guy, he has this really unobtrusive way of hanging around. I confess I can't help wondering about stealing his abilities, and if I'd find that in addition to the others I'd be able to fade in and out of the background at will. I mean, he would be a challenge, what with all that power blocking. I swear it only crossed my mind for an instant.

I greet him with warmth and enthusiasm, which while I'm Angela involves smiling with such tight lips that I'm afraid my mouth will never open again. Of course it does, and it's a good job really because one of us has to say something, and it doesn't look like being him. For a moment I'm at a loss because I realise I don't know his name, and then I remember I've been Nathan Patrelli for weeks and weeks so I recall it – well, well… that's surprising.

"Hello, Rene," I say. He almost smiles. I can see it lurking behind his eyes like potential. I decide to take it as a welcome. And there's something else behind his eyes. In that moment I want nothing more than to open him up and look inside. How does he do it? All that grey morality and switching allegiances without so much as a flicker of emotion or doubt. He has faith too, deep within him and steady as a rock. I can see it and I don't understand how they can co-exist… I look closely, and then I do get it, and wow… have I said that it's all so wonderfully intricate?

I know he isn't blocking me now… why would he? And yet I'm aware I have to get him somewhere alone to show him who I am and tell him what I want. More importantly – it has to be a private place so he can't just walk away from me. I've already disregarded the idea of just following him around until he agrees to help. I mean I do want to get off on the right foot here.

So I quickly explain that we can't talk in the open and I have a private room. I lead him there, and when I get in I padlock the door. Later the hotel can charge me for modifications I made to their doors. The balcony windows are padlocked too. I know he can't fly but I don't want him to try. I change right before his eyes and there isn't a flicker of surprise. I realise he must have been warned by the very person I have been impersonating, and I wonder what made him come here.

"What do you want?" he asks directly, and it's so very clever it almost takes my breath away. He doesn't give anything of himself. Just the question hangs between us, waiting to be answered. This thread that winds between all of us and all of the things we've done and he's been there all along. His involvement in all of it so much more than anyone could ever guess. He knows each of us – our motivations and desires. I see the quickening of manipulation in his eyes. Knowledge is power. We're more alike than I thought. Only he manages to dress it all up in a kind of barely visible subservience. Really, I can't help smiling. He's better at this than Angela Petrelli. I wonder if she even realises.

"Did you come here just to find that out?" I answer his question with one of my own, but that's not the way to play this game. I need to get him out of his comfort zone as background man. I walk to the minibar while his eyes are on me. I'm going to enjoy this. "Drink?" I ask innocently, turning just in time to catch his discomfort with giving away something so simple as a preference in liquor. The mask is back down though, so fast there's almost an audible click.

"No," he says, and something in him hates even having to give the negative. "Thank you." The best monsters have manners. I have lots of them.

"Suit yourself," I say and test our friend by attempting to move a glass into my hand. It doesn't work so I pour a scotch the way everyone else has to do it. Already I can see that Claire was onto something here. What's that saying? The devil makes work for idle hands.

"You're powerless," he says, so softly spoken behind me, and I smile. Interesting that he should take the time to say it, since it clearly wasn't necessary. Obviously a compliment to me. I take a sip before I answer.

"Well, now," I say, swirling the drink around as I stand up and look all the way around the room before moving my eyes to him. "That's kind of the point."

It's always a gamble. Everything is a calculated risk. Knowledge is power because of these moments. Reactions can be predicted, and relied upon. He's still human. We stand facing each other, and I'm aware he can make me forget we ever met. Just walk away. The padlocks are nothing, really. But behind that bland look I'm hoping I see just a hint of curiosity. He raises a hand while I watch, a glass of scotch in my own. For a moment I think that I have lost the game for the first time in a good long while. All I can see is that finality of his hand touching my forehead, taking this new idea away, perhaps forever. Then he turns his wrist to look at his watch, and I want to laugh out loud. I resist the urge to fling out my arms and say 'I did it!' After all, and I'm sure you know this already: I'm no Hiro.

To be continued…

**Author's Note: **Any comments appreciated.


End file.
